


Seven Pillars of What Might not Really Be A Wisdom

by Herodia



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Edgy Hell RebellionTM, Established Relationship, Gen, Hell is an Enlightened Monarchy, Historical References, Humor, Literary References & Allusions, Mostly Dialogs, Other, Post-Canon, Starring Azazel & Mephistopheles, mention of amputation, starring many references of armed conflicts of the last 50 years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-04-11 18:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19115098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herodia/pseuds/Herodia
Summary: There has been some hits in the show from Beelzebub about Hell not being exactly stable, when it comes to keeping demons in line. So this is it, an AU in which Hell did rebel after the failure of Armageddon and Crowley meets Beelzebub under unfortunate circumstances.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I reference to Beelzebub as him, just as they do in the book and as it is traditional for angels. I've seen someone using _her_ for the angels/demons portrayed by an actress in the show, so I wanted it to be noted.

It was a hot sunny day of Armageddon, there weren’t many like that in England. Precisely, it would be a hot sunny day of Armageddon, if someone hasn't stopped it, but it was still an unusual weather for England. It made a great and refreshing theme for a small talk.

A mother walked out of a tall building into a busy London street. She was just telling her child how hilarious it was that a divorced parent, whose residence they were just leaving, bought his child a chinchilla for her birthday and that it will have to stay at his ex-husband’s place. The child, of course, answered: “Haha funny, mama.” Without really understanding what she found so amusing about it. What the child took from the story was a little jealousy and a wish to receive such a cute fluffy chinchilla for a birthday too.

What more to say, it was a very good day to get hit by a car. So many witnesses around could see and prove that it was not really your fault, that you were just crossing the street, when the car drove in at an ungodly speed and rather rudely bumped into your unaware body.

None of the people around was quick enough to warn Crowley about the car. He didn’t blame them. When his demon instincts weren’t quick enough, it was only understandable humans couldn’t be either. He hadn’t blamed the car driver neither, since it was a driving school car and a driving school in London is an unofficial pre-circle of Hell. It was truly nobody's fault.

Still, the car hit him pretty hard and he hadn’t woken up until he was respectfully checked up and comfortably laid on an uncomfortable bed of the nearest hospital. He was just recovering his consciousness, when the process was speeded up by a shock therapy delivered in the form of a voice, that he didn’t want to hear for at least a few centuries, coming from the opposite bed.

“Are you fucking shitting me now?” There’s a need to point out, that the first half of the shit-word was buzzed, which lead to the typical sh on the start sound more like zh, as in the name of Georgy Zhukov, the soviet general of the second half of World War II.

In any other situation, Crowley would consider the little reunion a very unfortunate accident and calmly walk away, maybe throw in a few jokes. But now, given his deep disorientation caused by passing out on a street and waking up in a narrow room with his ex-superior right next to him, Crowley panicked. Of course, he would never call it panic himself, just a mere disturbance, if you asked him.

“Jesu- fuck- Sata- fuck- In a fucking cranberries.” He cursed, as he repeatedly attempted to shapeshift in a snake, changed his mind halfway in, because it would be quite shameful to sneak away like that and then changed his mind again, because he could get over the shame, once he’s safe and tried to shapeshift again. There was also some disturbance around, that didn’t allow him to fully change his form, which frightened him even more.

“Fucking cranberriezz?” Beelzebub repeated his shoddy curse, watching his distress in the kind of delight, that only bad people are allowed to feel, when someone they don’t quite like is suffering.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked, after he managed to calm down enough to pretend the last few minutes never happened. “I thought we had it all settled already.”

“You have it all zzettled, already. The rezzt of uzz izz back to work and productive- mozztly.”

“So what are you doing here?”

There has been a moment of silence, that Crowley interpreted as Beelzebub either not wanting to answer or looking for the right words to put it… or that he just spotted a spider and his fly instinct kicked in.

“There hazz been a little trouble downzztairzz.”

The word “trouble” had many interpretations. One can get into trouble for breaking a mug at work. A child can get into trouble for many things, for example, refusing to start the Armageddon. Anyone can feel troubled for any reason. What Beelzebub meant with the word trouble, however, was more like The Troubles, also known as the Northern Ireland conflict.

“A little trouble? Would you care enough to explain?” Crowley said, almost adding please at the end of the sentence, before remembering he is still legally a demon. Aziraphale truly was a good (which was bad) influence on him.

“There might have been a rebellion.” Beelzebub said, with a tone of a person, who doesn’t want to be explaining oneself, not because they would be ashamed, but because the situation to explain is so absurd it makes them angry. “And if you wish to know, I fully blame you for it.”

Similarly like the child wanting a chinchilla, Crowley had his mind and his mouth in a conflict. His mind was screaming “I'm done. Those are the last moments of my life and I didn’t get to call Aziraphale to cancel the dinner.” While his mouth said. “I'm deeply sorry you had to explain that downstairs.”

  
“Yeah, that. I didn't.” Crowley’s expression had to show his concern, because he continued. “I’m zztuck here, since I learned about it. Not that I would be telling until it’s solved, but I didn't even get the chance to do it.” There has been strict rule in Hell to either solve everything quick and quiet, also known as the ultimate solution or get to consult that with your superior, which was very painful on a psychical if not physical level.

“And how exactly have you ended up here, if I might ask?”

“You have already azzked, why are you azzking me if you might azzk?”

Crowley suddenly remembered, why he hasn’t missed the Hell at all.

“It's how they say it here, to show that they understand the question is touchy.”

“Human wayzz are weird.” Beelzebub sounded disgusted, but he always did. Crowley was sure, that even if he was shown the cutest puppy on the Earth, he would sound disgusted, while babytalking it.

“So how did that happen?”

“Let'zz zzay we were not prepared for a rebellion of that number right now. I went to solve some matter on the Earth and didn't get informed quick enough by the right people. Thozze, who did inform me, however,” Beelzebub lifted his arms, Crowley in his previous mere-disturbance didn't pay much attention to his appearance and was now quite alarmed by the fact, that there was a quite a lot missing. Precisely, his hands were missing, one cleanly chopped at the wrist and the other less cleanly at the middle of his forearm. “Took my fucking handzz.”

Crowley cursed and it wasn't into cranberries this time.

“Why?”

It was a very dumb question. They were demons. Their pure existence was meant for them to do things cruel and gruesome and tempt others to follow their example. But he still wasn't sure, why Beelzebub hadn't just regenerated by now, he was sure he as the Prince of Hell, possessed that power.

“They wanted to send them to Dagon.”

“Oh. That's.. certainly creative.”

“It'zz not their own idea, izz zztolen from humanzz, of course. The Cuban Revolution?” Beelzebub tried to avoid explaining, but Crowley didn't know much about that event. He wasn't sure whose work was it either. “When they killed that pozzter guy[1], they chopped off his handzz and sent them to Cazztro.”

Yes, that sounded very human.

“But you are against the revolution- rebellion- whatever, right? It makes no sense parallel that with Castro.”

“I don't think they thought so deeply into that. Just liked the cruelty and the violence, you know..”

Crowley didn’t know and rather got back to his main concern. “Why haven't you healed yet?”

Beelzebub pointed up over his head. For a mere second, Crowley interpreted it as the Almighty's eternal will have stopped him from doing so, but then noticed the cross nailed to the head of the bed.

“Fuck.” He said, fully understanding now, why he couldn't fully shapeshift and sneak away. Although, he was now happy, that he didn’t. As much as he didn’t plan to get involved in whatever was going on in Hell, he was still glad he knew about it, so he could properly avoid it.

“Yeah. Fuck.” Beelzebub agreed. “I fucking hate humanzz.” Crowley just dismissed that one as a figurative speech for his own inner peace. “Nailed a crozzz over my head, took the fliezz, kept bragging something about a terrible zzkin condition- All they left were the fucking fleazz."

“The fleas?” Crowley said, in the tone that could only compare to a scandalized aunt, who just found out her nephew has.. well.. fleas.

“Yes. We have had an outbreak downstairzz.”

Once again Crowley was glad he no longer had to go there. He opened his mouth to express exactly that, but Beelzebub stopped him before he could.

“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy explaining every single problem we have there, which I don’t. But for the love of Satan, tell me, that you have picked up some dark trick for walking on a sanctified ground, while wasting your time up here.”

“I didn’t, sorry.”

“Fuck.”

“Running fast worked the best so far.”

Beelzebub groaned.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Crowley said, knowing his involuntary companion most likely wouldn’t get his human cultural reference, but tried anyway. “The Master and Margarita, just a very ironic version.”

“No shit.” Beelzebub said, as if he really knew what he meant.

“Oh, you are familiar with that one?”

“I am, but I don’t underzztand where exactly is there a similarity.”

“Just the two of us conveniently meeting in a hospital we can’t leave.”

“Oh, of courzze.”

“If I might ask you,” Crowley said, this time putting the part with permission at the start of the sentence. “How did you learn about The Master and Margarita?”

“Behemoth liked that Human, the author, wouldn’t shut up about him.” Beelzebub said in a voice of someone who was very tired. “He loved talking to him and probably zztill izz. That guy izz definitely ourzz and I haven’t seen Behemoth for a century now. If you azzk me, he'zz down there hidden in some duzzty corner, talking to the man inzztead of making a worth of his eternity in Hell.[2] Back when the guy was zztill alive, Behemoth really believed him, that the zzpread of non-believers will be groundbreaking for uzx. What a fool, truzzting a human.”

Crowley only really caught a part of that speech, he blamed the car accident for it. “Wait- Are you implying Bulgakov actually knew Behemoth, consulted atheism with him and then wrote a book about a guy consulting atheism with a demon and meeting another guy, who wrote a book about- that? And that he purposely made Behemoth an annoying cat? _The_ annoying cat?! And Behemoth still talks to him after that?” There was a contrast between what Crowley found confusing on their relationship (Behemoth with his ill temper talking to someone, who made him a cat) and what Beelzebub did find weird on it (talking to humans at all.)

“Yes, I don't perzzonally get it either.”

There was a little Crowley could answer for that but “Humans..”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. There has been a single poster of Che Guevara in Hell. It was pinned in one of these endless halls, right next to the consultation room no one ever used and it covered a hole that a family of feral geckos used as their nest.  
> 2\. This wasn't the first time Bugakov escaped an unthinkable torture (or at least lessened it to a very long and after a few decades dull and repetitive conversation) because someone really liked his work. The first time it was Stalin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2449 words of two demons walking and talking.

Their respectful escape from the hospital went well and without any significant accident, maybe except a terrified nurse, who was unfortunate enough to stand in Beelzebub's way and comment on his infectious skin condition. What happened to her was going to haunt Crowley's mind for many following decades.

When they finally found their way out of the labyrinth of the former monastery and a worse maze of the attached building, that was added to extend the hospital centuries later, they ran to the nearest bench and with the grace of Hell sprawled on it. Its previous occupants got up conveniently in time for them to do so, after their stomachs announced to them, that there must have been something very wrong with the vanilla ice cream.

Crowley, who just used every bit of his theatrical charm to walk as if his feet weren't on fire, laid down on the bench, just conformably enough to seem unsuspicious. That still meant covering most of the bench. Beelzebub, who ran all the way through the monastery and the chapel, after they got lost, didn't bother with pretending, neither with giving Crowley his personal space.

They both changed their hospital provided attire back to their preferred outfits as soon, as they sat down and fixed few bones and grew few hands, when they were at it. A curious fly flew to them and with a buzz circled around Beelzebub's head.

“So, the rebellion what is that about? Is it the fleas?” Crowley dared to ask.

Beelzebub made a sound that might have been a laugh, if yes, it was a wicked laugh of a devil or at least of someone, who laughs at other people's questions, if not he might just have been clearing his voice. “No.” He licked his lips in a very unappealing way, as he spoke. “They don’t want anything. They are demonzz, they just want to rebel. It was eazzier to keep them in line, while waiting for _the War_. But now, thankzz to you, they went rogue.”

Crowley really didn’t see any way he could possibly convince Beelzebub, that everything bad that had happened to him and will yet happen, isn’t his fault. But so far Beelzebub, didn’t try to kill him (again), so he decided to try what worked the most so far. “You know, usually, when something goes wrong on my side, people forgive me after I buy them a lunch.” People as in a very specific person, who was not even a human

“I will take the lunch, but I will continue to blame you for the rebellion and I’m not going to any reeking human pub-”

It really didn’t take an ancient demon to know, what he was implying. “You can come to my place, I will order a takeaway.” Crowley almost rolled his eyes.

Beelzebub got up from the bench. “It’zz hard to say, it will be my pleasure. It should zztill be wiretapped.”

Crowley sighted, getting up himself. “I really hope you just want to use that to call whoever will pick you up.”

“Yezz, what elzze would I want to be doing at your place?” Beelzebub asked, offended, as if he wasn’t the one to imply it at first.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Crowley already regretted inviting him, although, he was still quite curious about the whole thing. “So they rebelled, just like that, because they want to? No demands, no plan?”

“No.” Beelzebub agreed, as they walked. “They could get what they wanted. We build it all on having been a bit nizzer than Heaven, when it comes to changing thingzz. Like we had unionzz and a suggezztion boxzz, they can’t even dream of that in Heaven. What we could not give them wazz a war, so they made it themselvezz.”

Hearing that, Crowley almost swallowed his own tongue in shock. “Uni- Unions?! And why did nobody tell me about the suggestion box?![1]”

“Yeah, the unionzz part didn’t work very well.” Beelzebub admitted. “And the suggezztion boxzz was set up under a condition, that no one tellzz you about it. It was our mutual agreement not to do that. But now you can’t uzze it, so you can know.”

“You could have had a livable Hell by now, if you told me! Why would you do that! I’m- and how did you even want the unions to work-”

“Someone would prezzent a suggezztion for the whole group and we would pretend to care. We got quite good at that by now.”

Crowley didn’t know on which part of that sentence, he wanted to answer first. He could see the bold bored faces, that they gave him every time, he tried to present something, as if it was yesterday. It was still hot in his memory.

“But how- What- How did you even come up with the idea of unions?”

“We are an enlightened sozziety.”

“You are not even society for Chr- His sake.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. When this is over, there won’t be no more free time or an uder-underground market.[2] I’m going to show them a true police zztate.”

“What will you change? Will you stop pretending to pay attention?”

“No longer letting demons fuck angelzz for inzztance.”

“Aagh- What an ugly word! Where did you even come up with that?” Crowley was shocked by the rudeness of the demon’s vocabulary choice. What was wrong with the traditional _making love_?

“You don’t- Nevermind. Getting along with angelzz, then.”

“Well, I wasn't exactly _praised_ for that, was I?”

More and more flies flew forward them and circled around Beelzebub.

“But you were left alone long enough to do so, that was a mizztake. It won’t be allowed to happen again.”

“I still don’t understand why they rebelled. Is being a demon really all it takes to do so? I can imagine many things that would be worth changing in Hell. For instance, the state of the restrooms.”

“Oh, don’t get me zztarted on thozze. Even the showerzz. No wonder everyone reekzz back down, when the bathroomzz look like _that._ ”

An observant person might have noticed a dark cloud forming in the distance. None of the demons was very observant.

“This might sound rude, but aren’t you the one in the position to change it?”

“I would! But I need a valid reazzon to do it! If someone bothered to azzk for it, I would make them clean it!”

“Yeah, that’s probably the reason, why nobody dared to do it. I don’t imagine you take a constructive criticism, right?”

“No, I certainly don’t.”

The flies slowly stopped buzzing and one by one hid behind Beelzebub’s collar and his coat.

“Then, if I may suggest, a chore wheel works pretty well.”

“Not in Hell, they tried that in the Third Circle and it hazz been frozzzen for almost seven decadezz now. Every time someone askzz Barbatozz about it, he claimzz, he hazz wiped the floorzz 68 yearzz ago and that the wheel hazz broken _._ Liar.”

A loud thunder rumbled in the distance, distracting them both from their civilized discussion about house chores. They both looked up and saw a dark cloud formed just a bit too far away to be threatening.

“That won’t catch us.” Crowley said. “It will stay in the suburbs.”

Just as he finished the sentence, another loud thunder rumbled closer to them.

“Are you sure?” Beelzebub asked, watching the cloud getting closer.

“Actually- no.” Crowley said, just as the cloud covered the sun and the world became a bit darker. “I think it will be the best, if we take a bus.”

He wanted to change direction to the nearest bus stop, but Beelzebub wasn’t anywhere near following him, he stood frozen watching the cloud.

“Um.. Beelzebub? We should go before the rain catches us.” He was about to pat his shoulder, but changed his mind and rather waved his hand before Beelzebub’s eyes. Just to be safe.

“That’zz not a rain.” Beelzebub said and was right, the drops that fell from the sky were too big and way too dark to be rain. Crowley caught one on his fingers. It was red and not a jam red, more like ‘ _I’m okay, the bullet just scratched me guys’_ or ‘ _Was that a stick or did I hit something?’_ red.

“They broke in the fucking omen chamber.”

“You don’t even need the omens, anymore. Let’s go.” Crowley didn’t really want his favorite outfit ruined, just so Beelzebub can have a dramatic moment. He took a deep breath, that smelled of blood and pulled his arm. It helped, Beelzebub stopped staring at the sky and came with him. And he hadn’t even tried to bite him.

“No one is allowed to uzze the omenzz without authorizzzation.”

“I’m sure you will enjoy explaining that to them, when you catch them.”

Humans had an impressive ability to disappear from the streets within seconds, when something unfortunate happened. The previously crowded streets were now almost empty, if not for the occasional group of teenagers enjoying the unusual weather, photographers and their models, who were shamelessly using the omen as their photoshoot feature and sometimes a lonely person dressed all in black standing in the middle of the street, doing nothing but staring to the sky. To summarize it, the only people outside, while it was raining blood, were exactly those people you would expect to go outside, when it’s raining blood.

Oh, and by some unexpected miracle, someone has left an umbrella on the street. Crowley picked it up, silently thanking whoever it was. It was even Crowley’s colour of choice. Which was black.

They just passed yet another group of teenagers, when one of them looked up from his smartphone and yelled “Dude, the Thames is boiling!” with euphoria that to Crowley’s mind, really didn’t belong anywhere near experiencing an omen. All of the boy’s friends answered with the same joy. Really, what did Thames ever do to them.

Beelzebub groaned. “They are gonna wazzte all the omenzz, we have been perfecting for sixz thouzzand yearzz.”

“You could have used that one seven centuries ago and boil out the Black Death.”

“Why would we do that? It’zz a human problem.”

“Nevermind.”

They reached the bus stop, just in time for the bus to _miraculously_ arrive and they didn’t even have to sit down and wait. The bus driver looked at their stained clothes and wet umbrella with terrified eyes, but said nothing.

“You know, I’m glad I don’t have to prove my worth as a demon anymore. Making people lose their patience over a traffic jam everyday is one thing, but not caring that millions of them lose their life to plague?” He shook. “There’ no fun in that.”

“Being a demon izz a punishment, Crowley, it’s not suppozzed to be fun.” Beelzebub answered bitterly, kind of like a teacher, who was just forced to explain something very simple for the tenth time. “I can promizze you not a single one of us enjoyzz it.”

Crowley let that sink into his mind. It made sense that demons wouldn’t enjoy hurting people, but it was hard for him to think of a single demon beside him, that didn’t have at least a little joy out of successfully accomplishing their job. Even he found it fun sometimes. Most times lately. But he didn’t _hurt_ people, at least not directly and if they didn’t deserve it. He always gave them a choice. He thought that maybe Azazel[3], would share a similar personal rule, but then remembered that whole weapon craft usiness.

He decided to rather not think about it.

“For a punishment, there’s an absurd amount of dancing in Hell.”

Beelzebub smirked. “If we are to be punished for breaking a rule or two, why not break all of them and make thozze left in Heaven a little jealouzz. It’zz all to keep a high morale of courzze.”

“You are throwing parties to make the angels jealous?” Crowley performatively moved his sunglasses to give Beelzebub an earnestly doubtful look.

“They love pretending, they are better up there.” Beelzebub made a gesture of pointing his hands up and left them in the air. “Thizz.” He waved them in front of Crowley’s face. “Wazz pretty weak from what they wanted to do to you and your angel.”

Crowley swallowed. “Was it?”

“They wanted him to watch, when you melt in the holy water, before they kill him themselvezz.”

For a moment Crowley forgot that the human form needs to blink and breathe. “That’s- That’s just evil! Are they sure, they belong up there? That certainly isn’t heavenly mercy.”

“Heaven hazz no mercy, that’s juzzt a human mizzinterpretation.” Beelzebub went back to his semi-bored tone. The flies that have been hiding on him finally noticed, it’s not raining inside the bus and raised up to circle around his head.

“You are right, they don’t have any.” Answered Crowley, remembering Gabriel telling him, Aziraphale, to ‘ _Shut up and die already’_. It was very rude of him. “So what stopped them, don’t tell me it was your side?”

“My side?” Beelzebub said, offended. “It wazz  _me!_ I perzzonally told them no. I just wanted you blamed and killed, not being part of their sick games.”

“Oh.” Crowley said. “I should say thank you, then.”

“No fucking problem.” Beelzebub’s sarcasm was the strongest display of emotion Crowley saw in him in decades. That is if sarcasm could be considered a display of emotion.

There has been a moment of silence.

“You know, I don’t actually find this worse than what they did to you.” Crowley said at last. “When you see your loved one die- Wait, you are together, right?”

“To the Zzpawn of Satan, Crowley.” Crowley almost answered ‘ _His name is Adam.’_ but then thought better of it. “Where have you been last sixz thouzzand yearzz?”

“Up here.” He answered simply.

“Of courzze. Yes, we are together. Thanks for noticing.”

“But you never- Whatever.” He didn’t even know, what he wanted to say. _Cuddle? Hold hands? [4]Kiss on the top of the pile of wicked souls? _After six thousand years together these things get a bit pall. “What I wanted to say was that seeing your loved one die is one thing. You know what has happened, but receiving a piece of them, knowing that they went through pain, but not being certain how much more pain they had to endure or if they survived it? Terrible.”

“Thank you, Crowley. It surely made me feel better about it.”

All Crowley had to answer to that was “Oops.” and “I’m sorry.”

“Juzzt get me to your place, so I can get in touch with him.” He sighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The concept didn't take very well in Hell. The few suggestions, that were put there, were strongly personal. For example the half torn note saying " _I demand Ligur to be brought to justice for eating my crickets_." or as absurd as " _Pugs shall be allowed entrance to Hell._ " The first one was solved by Beelzebub by telling Dagon to tell Hastur to tell Ligur to stop eating other demon's crickets. The other one, was officially declined by pinning a note on the office door, saying " _No pugs. We already have hellhounds._ " The only demand that was met with agreement was a request of a rotating chair. Since then there has been a single rotating chair in Hell and it proved to be very popular.
> 
> 2\. The Under-underground market has been a net of more or less connected deals with human provided goods, organized by particularly no one. Beside cigarettes, that had been banned, since someone tried to light one with the hellfire and proceeded to set a whole block on fire, it was mostly just a bunch of things too useless to be considered a threat. Especially _Nu, pogodi!_ merch was very popular alongside demons. They even had an illegal screening parties.
> 
> 3\. Azazel was a demon known to humans for two things, firstly, for giving humans the art of makeup and jewellery and secondly, for teaching them the craft of weaponry.  Within demon circles he has been known as the weirdo, who has been wearing a heart shaped sunglasses and calling everyone _'his Jenny'_. He had a miraculous ability to make any room he was just in seem too small, which was something, considering how small and crowded Hell already was.  
> ,  
> 4\. The last time Beelzebub and Dagon held hands (or were together on Earth) were in the year of 315 in Rome. Which made it two years after the Edict of Milan and ten years before the First Council of Nicaea. They both completely failed to notice both of these events at the time they happened. It would have been a nice evening to walk and hold hands, if not for two preachers, who were breathlessly debating the possibility and the impossibility of the homeostasis of the Christ. Breathlessly, because they did what they could to beat the breath out of each other. Back then, Dagon let go of Beelzebub’s hand to properly call the guards. He was very disappointed, when the guard showed up and had to explain him, that the Emperor has legalized their religion, therefore he can’t feed them to the lions. The guard himself was having a midlife crisis about it, since he was a stoics and until now believed, his life purpose was to do exactly that, feed the Christians to the lions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking this long, I really should have finished this long ago. I added linked footnotes to this chapter, but so far I didn't manage to make the one that would link back to the text work and since I'm very Newton about coding, I choose to leave it like this for now. I will be adding them to the previous chapters later too.  
> Thank you for your patience!

Don’t let the old tales fool you, the entrance to Hell is no longer buried in the chasm behind your home village. It’s closer than that. The entrance to Hell is hidden deep within the remote housing estates, in the cheapest housing there, completely surrounded by other buildings, that the sun no longer shines there and the only view the windows offer are concrete walls of someone’s else’s home. If you enter such a building, you should take care where you go, because it takes entering one wrong door and you might find yourself in a very different place than you were looking for. You wouldn’t even notice that at first, that the dark, dusty corridors no longer belong to the moral realm. Not until it’s too late.

Crowley’s own home was the very opposite of that. Just as anyone else, he wanted his home as different from his work as possible. His minimalistic apartment and long hallways impressed Beelzebub more than he would admit. Entering it, he did what he could not to gasp.

“Please clean your boots.” Crowley pointed at a doormat by the door.

Beelzebub took care not to step on it. “No wonder you feel too good for Hell.” He looked around. “When you have made yourself a plazze like thizz.”

“Hell wouldn’t be as different, if you have cleaned it once in a while.” Crowley said, taking off his blood soaked jacket. 

“We cleaned it twelve yearzz ago, when we were looking for a bazzket to put the Bozzz'z child in[1].” Beelzebub didn’t think Crowley really meant his remark, but he still wanted him to know, that they were at least trying to make the place down there liveable.

“That’s hard to believe.” Crowley kicked off his shoes. “I will take a shower, if you don’t mind. You can make your calls in the meantime.”

“Sure.” Beelzebub answered. Walking further into the apartment, looking for anything, he could use to call Dagon. Soon, he reached the workroom.

“There’zz a zztain on your carpet.” He alerted Crowley, mostly to spite him about finding an imperfection in his otherwise perfect home.

“Where?” Crowley shouted out from the shower.

“The workroom.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s Ligur. He’s uncleanable, I tried.”

Beelzebub considered for a moment, that out of respect for a deceased coworker, it might not be proper to step on him. He soon came to a conclusion, that Ligur no longer minds and stepped on him.

In the workroom was, beside many useless things, a phone and a television. He didn't think it wise to call 666 right now, he couldn’t be sure who will answer it. And since it was the only number he knew, he decided that the television, despite not being much safer than the phone, was passing enough for now.

He switched the channels using random buttons of remote controller, which out of his will did what he wished them to. There was a lot of weird human programmes, but none that would indicate a presence of a demon. Some of them had actors pretend they were demons, they completely failed.

The sound of the shower stopped, but Beelzebub paid it no mind, until Crowley walked in the room, dresses just enough to be proper, holding a towel at his hair.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Crowley sighted and handled him a smartphone. "I still have the contacts saved. I will just trust you wanting to get away from here more, than wanting to call my operator and cancel my premium or whatever."

Beelzebub took the phone from him with only a deadly stare as a thank you. He held it curiously. They didn't have these in Hell. He wasn't sure how it worked, but in order to keep his dignity he tried his best. It was already on, that was a start. It took him more effort than, he would admit to open a call menu.

“Swipe left.” Crowley’s advice was completely uncalled for, since Beelzebub was just about to try something like that.  
But it worked.

He looked at the various names and numbers. “Which one izz it?”

“Any of the ones named _Don’t pick up_.”

Beelzebub didn’t have the energy to get surprised by the answer, he was only disappointed by his ex-employee and his terrible working morale. (He didn’t bother to assume Crowley have changed the names, after he and Hell broke up.) He gave up on lectures a long time ago, it was a waste of time with demons. He sighted a tried a random number.

The phone rang once, then it buzzed, accompanied by ear-piercing scream, it was the type of scream that set forests on fire, turned skin to stone and mountains to dust.

Beelzebub hanged up.

“That surely wasn’t Dagon.” Crowley offered, quite startled.

“Oh no.” Beelzebub said. “That wazzn’t him, he doezzn’t zzcream, he just makezz whale noizzezz[2].”

Crowley didn’t verbally answer, but his face made it obvious, what his answer would be. Beelzebub pressed another number at random, whoever was on the other side picked it up immediately but took ages to answer. 

“Um- Hello?” Beelzebub spoke on the phone, when it gave him nothing but silence.

“Hello.” Echoed from the door.

Both Beelzebub and Crowley turned around, prepared to face a potential intruder, but saw no one.

“Hey!” Crowley shouted. “Who’s there?”

“Hey! Who’s there.” Echoed from the door again.

Crowley gathered all his courage and walked to the door. Beelzebub watched him peeking to the hallway, then walking in.

“I can’t see anyone. Try it again.”

“Bitch?” Beelzebub said on the phone, making the question mark at the end hearbable.

His words were echoed again.

Crowley turned around, watching the stain in the floor with more fear in his eyes, than Beelzebub ever saw on him before and _he_ made him a bath in the holy water. “I think it came from Ligur.”

Beelzebub walked to the stain, equally terrified. “Ligur?” He said on the phone.

The words echoed from the stain.

“Just-” Crowley stuttered. “Just turn it off.”

Beelzebub did.

“And delete the number.”

After they calmed down from their traumatic experience with dead demon and finished staring at the stain. Beelzebub tried calling another number of the long list of _don’t pick up_ contacts. There was 9 999 999 of them precisely.

Now, if he was an angel, he would pray for the last experience not to repeat again, but he was a demon and as such he wasn’t on the best term with God. It was kind of like a naughty child wishing for a dream pet from Santa. He wasn’t getting any.

To his short lasting relief, no one picked it on the first ring. They took a very long time to pick up, actually. The phone kept on ringing and ringing.

“Dagon would probably pick up already.” Crowley offered. He really didn’t like wasting time. Especially when he had a date in two hours. He was getting a bit nervous.

“Yeah, probably.” Beelzebub said and was about to hang up. The person on the other side chose that very moment to finally pick up.

“Hello?” They said on the speaker.

“Azzzazzzel.” Beelzebub said, making sure Azazel knows, he isn’t very happy about talking to him.

“Beelzebub-” Azazel answered and Beelzebub hanged up.

“You could have at least asked him.” Crowley said.

“Not worth it.” Beelzebub answered.

The phone in his hand buzzed.

“He’zz calling again.” He sighted, picking it up.

“Beelzebub?”

Now, you have probably already read about demons being deprived of all emotions that aren’t anger and heartlessly banned from love. All of that is a crap, originating from humanity’s tendency to make everything edgier than it is. The only rule about love that Hell has, was stated by Satan himself by these precise words: _“It’s out of my concern, just  beware laying with humans. I’m not having that conversation with Her ever again.”_ It’s not surprising, after all, the pure thought of sharing their love with someone who wasn’t Her, was a reason many of them fell. For Crowley’s sake interaction with angels was banned altogether, therefore loving one didn’t need its own ban, it was simply out of the question.

If the official law of Hell wasn’t enough to convince you, that demons are capable of feeling love (and no one would blame you for that, since the law of Hell is complicated, tricky and bans dogs), Beelzebub’s reaction to hearing the voice on the phone would convince you otherwise.

Crowley’s own reaction to that was nodding and getting Beelzebub a glass of water. Which Beelzebub hardly noticed, until it was shoved under his nose.

***

Far away across the big salt puddle known as the Atlantic ocean, three demons were hiding in a place full of sweat, pain and despair. There was a fourth one too, he was smoking his fourth box of tasteless cigarettes outside the dorm, proving to be completely useless to the rest of them. They were hardly distinguishable from any of the other residents of the campus. Which was by the way searched by police at the very moment, after an outraged parent complained about the amount of weed in their child’s room.

First of them looked like your typical cosmetics dealer and smelled like the luxury brand department of your local mall, he was just pinning a sticker on the nail of his forefinger with surgical precision, while explaining the importance of its right placement. The demon he spoke to didn’t seem to pay attention to it, as he was occupied by turning pages if a catalogue and occasionally even reading them.

“Does it matter who blessed it?” He lifted his head from the catalogue. “You always write it in the corner.”

“Not really.” Azazel shrugged his shoulders (at least as much as he could, with his elbows on the ground.) “It’s there in case of customer's preference.”

“Huh.” Dagon said, returning to the catalogue.

The third demon was the infamous Mephistopheles. He has been claiming campuses as his domain for centuries now and no one was really sure, if he always did, or just embraced the legends people told of him. He was laying on the bug filled campus bed, making an hours long phone call.

There was a remain of another demon, tossed in the corner, that they all avoided looking at.

With a sigh and a harsh goodbye Mephisto put down his phone and moved his gaze from the spider on the ceiling to his bored coworkers. “You heard?” He asked them, knowing well that even though he turned on the speaker hours ago and spoke about their shared interest, the demons still wouldn’t bother to pay attention.

“No.” Dagon said, turning the page of his catalogue and picking up a pen to circle one of the products.

“Ferthur, in all his hellish grace, laughed at us and insured me, that he won’t lend us any of his troops. But he will make sure they don’t pass to the Fourth Circle.”

“That’s more than I would expect from him.” Dagon said. “Did he mention anything about the rebels, are they organized? Do they have a leader?”

“Yes and no, it seems like they are just rebelling on the spot, because they can.” Mephisto shrugged.

“Fucking great.” Dagon groaned. “They will be slaughtered for their own stupidity.”

“They will and it will be easy, because they are unorganized.” Mephisto said. “But it should be done as quickly as possible, before they do-”

“I know, but we still don’t know where Beelzebub is, neither what they wanted to achieve with- _that_.” Dagon interrupted him.

“It’s not like he’s finding _you._ Not here at least.”

“This all could be over with, if you called Paimon, already.”

“I’m not calling him, he’s a fucking snitch, he would tell Him, straight away!” Mephisto was losing his nerves.

“But he could locate Beelzebub- just call him and I will talk.”

“No. He will make it, he’s not a fucking damsel in distress- For fucks sake, Azazel, pick up the phone already!”

There was a second of silence, filled only by screams of running students, shooting of cops and the newest annoying pop song that the radios seem to play on loop, coming from Azazel’s smartphone- the most expensive one on the market.

“Oh, I didn’t even notice.” Azazel said, lifting his phone from the ground. “I was having a great time listening to the sweet song of your argument.”

He picked up.

***

“So?” Crowley asked Beelzebub, when he finished his call _and_ his water.

“He’zz with Azzzazzel, Mephizztophelezz and Hazztur. Hiding somewhere, gathering weaponzz and whoever izz zztill loyal. The rebellion zzpread to the first four circles, but they managed to cut off the fourth. He said he’ll get me zztraight away, but has to pick up something on the way.”

“He has a strange choice of company.” Crowley pointed out, knowing that none of the named demons were popular within Hell, let alone with Dagon himself. Except maybe Hastur, but his presence there still confused him, because Hastur was in his opinion completely unbearable piece of demon.

“It certainly izz, but I’m here with you so, whatever.”

Crowley looked at him in a way that suggested he might have something on his tongue, but isn’t quite sure how to form it.

"Don’t you perhaps want to shower that off?” He gently pointed at Beelzebub. “Not to offend your hellish manners, but it’s pretty gross, even for your standards.” He quickly realized his unwise choice of words. ”As for Hell, I mean, not you personally.”

Beelzebub didn’t seem to mind any of his words, he actually seemed pretty bored with them. The only hint of him listening was him looking at the drying blood on his suit, as if he just noticed it.

“Yeah, I would uzze that.” He said at last.

The answer filled Crowley with a bit of a relief, because watching Beelzebub scratching since they arrived has been driving him mad. The last thing he needed were fleas in his apartment. “Bathroom is the second door to the left.” Crowley said. “If you put your clothes in the washer it might even get off the terrible feeling of it being there.”

Crowley knew Beelzebub had managed to find it, when he heard a long whistle, that echoed through the apartment, followed by: “That’zz nice.”

Crowley knew his bathroom was fancy, but it didn’t stop him from feeling complimented. He designed it himself.

“Mind if I take a bath?” Beelzebub shouted to the corridor and Crowley, purely to stay in character, couldn’t help himself but remark: “Are you really asking me, if you can use my bath? After that last time?”

“Yezz.” Beelzebub answered simply, showing to shame to it.

“Yeah, whatever, just don't block the plughole with flies.”

He understood, that a nice clean and modern bath might be tempting for a demon. That’s why he had his and why it was big. The only ones they had in Hell haven’t been updated since Rome (not that there was anything to update to in the longest time) and were never cleaned. Thinking about it, they probably had to import the bath they tried to kill him in from the Earth.

He remembered well he promised Beelzebub a lunch, even though he probably didn’t care. But Crowley invited him and being a demon didn’t mean you had no manners, at least not for him. So he picked up his phone, to call a restaurant, but before he could even choose the number, he changed his mind. He had leftovers in the fridge. And even thought he valued manners, this was a nice example of what could be considered demonic hospitality. Being nice enough not to be rude, but making sure the person will never visit you again. Plus, Beelzebub, who hardly left Hell, might not know the difference.

He knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yezz?” Beelzebub said.  
“Do you want the snack?” Crowley asked.

There was a sound coming from the bathroom that could be either _ehhh, ughhh_ or anything in between, which was ended by simple “Sure.”

It should be noted that demons, neither angels cared about their humanized form and only associated clothes with the first sin. Whenever they all bathed in underwear or if what people would consider underwear was actually rooted to their form is left for the reader's mind to fill.

Crowley entered the bathroom, throwing himself and a bucket of fries on the ground next to the bathtub. The pure reason he even had fries in the first place was, that there was an unspoken agreement between the demons and the riders, that was as simple as supporting one another’s economy. Demons sold guns, bought junk food and did all these terrible things to public trash cans, that made people consider littering more acceptable that getting any closer to them. They did so just to ensure the riders knew on which side they should fight. It might have been cheating, but what else to expect from them. They were already fallen, so what could they lose.

And of course, the main reason Crowley had a fries was that he secretly enjoyed the over-fried salty taste.

He obviously wasn’t the only one though, because as soon as they were laid down, Beelzebub savagely dag his wet hand into them. Crowley was now clearly reminded why he hated his own kin so much.

“That’zz a rubber duck, right?” Beelzebub asked in the rare moment when his mouth was empty and he waited for Crowley to take his hand out of the fries bucket in order not to make the situation awkward.

“Yes.” Crowley answered, a little startled, but managing to hide it. Of course Aziraphale told him everything that happened during his trial, but he would still rather avoid talking about it with any present demon.

There was indeed a rubber duck. It was a gift from Aziraphale to him and it was dressed like Franz Joseph, the Emperor of Austria-Hungary. Aziraphale himself found it incredibly funny, but Crowley didn’t quite get the joke. That was because he managed to sleep through all of his 68 years long rule. (Except that one time he had to relieve himself, but he didn’t check the news at that time.)

“It’zz fun.” Beelzebub said.

A particularly brave fly landed on the duck’s head, sitting still as it flowed in the bath, like a missing hat.

“So, did Dagon tell you, when will he arrive?” Crowley asked.

“No, he said he hazz to do something first and then he will come.” Beelzebub said. “He repeated I should zztay here three times, I don’t think he is taking too long. Unlezzz-”

“Unlessss?” Crowley was getting a little tiny bit nervous. He has been a little tiny bit nervous for a while now and it was just getting worse.

“Unlezzz he can’t travel through Hell and has to take human transport. I hope not, because it has been a while since he was here and might not fully understand planes.”

“When was the last time he was there?” Crowley asked curiously, mostly to change the subject.

“Since a bit before the Reign of Terror?” Beelzebub said in not-very-sure tone. “It wazz after the Seven Years long war, right?”

“Yes, I guess.” Crowley said, not very sure himself. “So it was your doing? The Reign of Terror?”

“Oh no.” Beelzebub said. “Dagon had to leave, it’s a long zztory.[3] Wait, I thought it was yours?”

“Oh, yes.” Crowley lied. He didn’t really have to lie, since he was no longer under Beelzebub’s watch, but it was always better to be the cool one.

While their conversation went on, more and more flies followed the first one and sat on Franz Joseph. The more industrious flies sat around the edge and moved the duck the direction they wanted, but they weren’t very good at it, unless their plan was to circle so much they made a whirlpool.

“Is this immaturity necessary?” Crosley pointed at the flies.

“Don’t azzk me, azzk them.” Beelzebub shrugged. “I don’t control them.”

Crowley didn’t have anything to say to that. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to, since his phone rang, before he could form an answer. He picked up, knowing by the ringtone it wasn’t Aziraphale, which was all that mattered.[4]

“I’m on the street.” Dagon said rather loudly into the phone, the sound of the strong rain clear in the background. “Can’t find the house. Where are you?”

“It’s the black building.”

“I’m sad to break it to you, but they are all covered in blood by now.” Dagon answered bitterly. “The red door?”

“No, that’s- That’s a very different kind of building.” It was also a very different institute. “The yellow one.”

“Is it on the side of the bus stop?”

“There are bus stops on both sides, Dagon.”

“Can’t you just scream out of the window it would make it much easier- Nevermind, I found a yellow door.”

Crowley sighed in relief, when he heard he heard the bell announcing a visitor. He miracled the front door open.

“I will get him, before he gets lost again.” He said to Beelzebub, who just grunted in response.

At the end he didn’t have to chase Dagon in the long hallways as he was afraid he would. The demon stood right at his door, when he opened them.

And nothing could possibly prepare Crowley for the sight before him.

***

Not so long ago Dagon still laid on the same spot as before, with only a small difference, that he was now quite calmer and browsing a rather different kind of catalogue.

“That one was nice, do have any more of these?” He said, throwing the catalogue at Azazel. 

“Shouldn’t you go pick up your boyfriend?” Azazel offered instead.

“He said he’s fine. I will let him suffer in Crowley’s presence a little longer.” He reached for a next catalogue.

“So what did he do to deserve that?” Mephistofeles asked curiously. The years he spent around students made him quite gossip starved (and vegan, but he wouldn’t dare to admit that aloud in front of other demons).

“Refused to take a rock’n’rol dance class with me.” Dagon said with the pure hatred only a lifelong partner can feel. “He told me to take Hastur instead.”

Mephistopheles nodded in sad acknowledgement. “Did you?”

“No. He ran away the moment he heard. I had to go up and find a human. Because everyone down there is a coward.”

A knock on the door disturbed them.

“If you are Beetle go away, I’m not telling you where the square with a magic hole that will help you pass your exams is!” Mehisto shouted. The hole was in a historical column and was one of the last things Mephisto did during his time in Europe. He also told the cops to keep an eye on it. Speaking of the devil-

“Police! Open the door!”

“No, it’s not!” Mephisto answered, because he made sure that no cops will ever notice the door of his room.

Dagon, not minding any of it, turned the page of the catalogue and his eyes lit.

“Can you get me the axolotl nail stickers?” He turned another page. “And the mudskippers too.”

“Moment.” Azazel said, already standing at the door, surprised to actually find a policeman there.

Outside some poor student jumped out of the window, trying to save his hard earned marijuana plant.

The police officer faded at the sight.

Or maybe it was not at the sight, because a demon whose vessel was more nicotine than flesh at that point crossed his body, as soon as he fell.

“There was a being- probably human, but I’m not sure, it was weird- that claimed this belongs to you.” Hastur threw a bag at the ground. It was big and smelled of iron and sulphur.

***

Even without Beelzebub’s natural brightness and demon powers, he would know the exact moment, when Dagon entered the flat. He could do so based purely on Crowley’s screams.

“What the Hell, Dagon! You are not in America, for the- How did you even get here?”

“Where’s he?” He heard Dagon say.

“Bathroom, to the left, second door.”

Beelzebub considered getting up, but the warm water was very comfortable.

When Dagon finally walked in, he couldn’t see what startled Crowley so much. Maybe other than him being covered in the rain-blood. He didn’t even consider it might have been the rifle at his back that was so triggering. He should have, but he didn’t.

Before he could do as much as greet him, Dagon was already about to jump on him. He was only stopped by Crowley’s hand at this collar.

“No! No guns in the bath!” Crowley looked lost in panic and to Beelzebub’s judge, he deserved it. No such matter would alarm any undomesticated demon.

“You’re so prude.” Dagon said, pulling the rifle off his back and throwing it at Crowley, who caught it with the most terrified expression.

“And no gun throwing in the house!”

But the other two demons no longer cared about what he had to say, as Dagon was already laying on top of Beelzebub in the bath. The water around them coloured from all the dirt and blood on him and an awful fish smell filled the room. And he probably drowned all the flies, what a shame, they were friends.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Dagon said, hugging Beelzebub tightly.

Beelzebub squirmed under him. “You say that azz if, I had a choice.” He pushed Dagon off him. The bath was big enough for him to sit there without pinning on Beelzebub. “Did you bring more of thezze?” He pointed at the rifle, that Crowley curiously inspected. “Of course I did.” Dagon smiled. “A full bag.”

“It’s warm.” Crowley said, carefully touching the barrel. “Almost burning.”

“Yeah, it’s blessed. What else do you want to fight demons with? We aren’t all holy-waterproof freaks, like you.”

“Yes. Sure.” Crowley said. Laying down the rifle. “I need to be going now, so what about you all set off to solve your Hell rebellion business?” He looked at this watch in the process of speaking, which both of the demons knew was just performative.

Beelzebub and Dagon looked at each other. Dagon was the first one to speak. “Okay.” He said, getting up and splashing water all around in the process. He held his hand out for Beelzebub, who took it. “Honestly, I can’t wait to test the weapons on demons. Humans were boring.”

Crowley shot him a deadly look.

“I can’t wait to make these azzzholes, who cut off my handzzz to suffer. They couldn’t even get the symbolizzzm right. I should be cutting _their_ hands, they are the rebelzzz.”

“Rebels?” Dagon raised his eyebrows. “Mephisto blabbed something about a deep symbolism and post-war Argentine president.”

Beelzebub ignored that purely for the chance he interpreted the whole thing wrong. He did not like to be wrong. ‘ _Humans and their hand cutting fetish.’_ He cursed silently.

Crowley coughed and pointed at the door. “After you. And please, take all your stuff with you.”

As a miracle all the blood and wetness disappeared from them the moment they passed through the door and their clothes appeared to be as clean and new as ever.

“Good luck with making things downstairs right.” Crowley gave them a passive aggressive goodbye before they disappeared into the ground.

If they made the things right depends purely on the chosen definition of right. For anyone with a healthy morale the answer is _no_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It has been a kind of a spring cleaning, aside from some details, as it being much bigger, deadlier and not during spring. Beelzebub made sure that every single demon in Hell took part in it. Expect Ligur, who has been holding the Antichrist and making funny faces at him every time, he thought no one was looking.
> 
> 2\. It should be pointed out, that the language of demons is very different from languages known to us. The closest to their language humanity ever was, was long before the Tower of Babel, long before Abraham or Noah, when all women were Eve and all men Adam, (at least in the question of language.) Back then, humans were used to the voices of Heaven and Hell and could understand them perfectly. And demons kept that ability to this day. After the Fall was every demon created their own language they speak and how they manage to understand each other is a knowledge long lost to us. Therefore, it’s quite natural that Dagon wouldn’t use what we consider a normal sound of distress. He could, but he prefers the whale noise instead.
> 
> 3\. To explain this long story, we would have to start with the reason why so many monarchs of 18th century turned out to be either Great or Mad. Screw that. The most important part in the story is that many monarchs at the time were simple and hated doing their job. If they had any other job, they would be fine and uninteresting to Hell, but they were born to rule and so most of them were assigned to Dagon at some point.  
> Dagon had an extraordinary ability to treat everyone like a child. It was great, really. He might have been even assigned the antichrist, if the authorities didn’t know that during the long 6 thousand years, he managed to consume at least one human child.  
> Dagon was just appraised for his last work, corrupting Peter III of Russia in the Seven Years War, using nothing but a map and patience, (plus a whole lot of clever words put together to sound like a great strategic planning and a single mint candy, but he didn’t bother to write that in the report.) He was happy to repeat that in France, but he was met with a problem, that Peter III didn’t have: A caring wife. It took Marie Antoinette a single week to notice Dagon was suspiciously close to her husband and deal with it in a way no Queen of France did before. Many lessons were learned that day, the most important one was, that if someone thinks that Marie Antoinette wouldn’t throw arms with a demon and win in order to win back her husband, they were very wrong.
> 
> 4\. His ringtone of choice for Aziraphale was Send Me An Angel from Scorpions, he set it on one of those lonely night, when Aziraphale was away and he was drunk. He would never admit it, but he liked the cheeky contrast to the rest of his ringtones- Queen songs. God sent him an angel after all, just not in the land of the Morningstar, (which he was glad for, it would be just evil to do that).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone again for staying with me. I started writting this because there wasn't any Beelzebub centric fic out here and by the time it was finished, Beelzebub's tagg grew far bigger.  
> I had a short chapter planned about the end of the rebellion end, but it already took me long enough to finish it as it is. So just believe me, that everything went well for Beelzebub and Dagon. (And that the unnamed demon, who wanted a pug used the opportunity to get one, but it was soon consfiscated by Dagon and renamed Fart. Now there's bunch of hellhounds and one Fart in hell.)


End file.
